The Xperiment
by Beaubier
Summary: The 5 funniest, or strangest slash pairings I could come up with, from Uncanny or Xtreme. Includes Cannonball, Iceman, Jubilee, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Sage, Northstar, Husk, Archangel, and Rogue. Enough of this angst-- time to have some fun with them!
1. Mary

TITLE:  The Xperiment  
AUTHOR: Beaubier  
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: xbeaubier@hotmail.com  
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: You're joking, right?  
CATEGORY: Humor/Romance  
RATINGS/WARNINGS:  Rated R, adult situations. Yes, all of these pairings are utterly, completely homosexual. They are also horrifically ooc. Lots implied, not much is actually said, however. If you are a literal Biblical Christian, skip chapter 3. It's not offensive to anyone else, but certain of you may find it to be so.   
SUMMARY: The 5 funniest, or strangest pairings I could come up with, from Uncanny or Xtreme X-Men teams at the moment. Includes Cannonball, Iceman, Jubilee, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Sage, Northstar, Husk, Archangel, and Rogue. Not necessarily in that order.   
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Marvel. I'm sure they're particularly happy about that, right now.   
NOTES: I admit it, slash rather fascinates me. This is a bit of a joke, in case you hadn't noticed, because I'm well aware that none of it would happen. In fact, I purposely made the pairings less and less believable, coming up with the strangest ones I could. It was something of a challenge to myself. Starts out almost possible, ends up simply ludicrous. The characterizations are caricatures. Some seem a bit serious, but it's all in good fun. I was just curious, if I could pull it off.

                Turns out, I can't, really. 

                Ah well, I had a laugh anyhow. 

                Soundtrack courtesy of Supergrass, The Charlatans UK, Massive Attack, Marilyn Manson, and Spacehog. 'Cause what's a little romance without a little music?   
  


Mary 

_i'll tell you stories that you won't understand  
i'll have you eating from the palm of my hand  
i'm gonna push you further into my dream  
the back of every head holds something obscene_

_-Supergrass, "Mary"_

                Bobby grinned down into his lap. The oldest trick in the book. The old porn mag in the text book number. This should be enough to get him through the meeting, to make it look like he was paying attention to something, at least. God knew he didn't have the attention span at the moment to listen to the boring convention speaker, the least he could do was to look like he was following along. 

                He heard someone behind him, and had seen Warren in the kitchen recently. Assuming it was him, he said, "Hey, c'mere and look at how brilliant I am, War—"

                But he stopped, when he turned to look. Because it wasn't Warren at all, but Jean-Paul Beaubier. 

                The one man in the house who would probably not be impressed by the contents of the magazine. 

                He grumbled to himself and turned back around, returning to the job of securing the Playboy neatly inside the folder they'd sent him. 

                Jean-Paul, however, was apparently intrigued. "Disappointed are we, Drake?" He smirked, coming to look over the younger man's shoulder.

                "Yeah, was gonna show Warren my handy-work," Bobby wasn't bothered, continuing his work diligently, biting his lip as he often did when he was concentrating. 

                "If you're so proud of it, show me," he suggested flippantly, leaning on the back of Bobby's chair now. 

                He smelled like aftershave and clean… the smell of green soap and laundry detergent and Polo Sport. Bobby had always liked that particular cologne. He made a mental note to get himself a bottle, next time he was out. "Not the sort of thing you're gonna be impressed with, JP."

                "On the contrary," the Canadian leaned down now, so that his head was next to Bobby's, the heat from his cheek evident on the other man's now. Bobby was always just a little cold, after all. "That's some fine craftsmanship, mon ami. What is this, conference materials?"

                "Yeah," Bobby was surprised to find himself mildly distracted by the proximity of Jean-Paul's pretty face. Not quite as distracting as the centerfold he had opened on his lap, but distracting nevertheless. "Gotta go to some stupid tax thing, get a certificate to hang on the wall in my office. You know, for when I go back to the accountant thing full time."

                "Hmmm," the other man seemed to be considering carefully the image presented to him. A fully developed, tanned, gorgeous piece of young woman.

                Bobby wrinkled up his nose, "You really get nothing from that, huh?"

                "Honestly…," Jean-Paul seemed to be considering, leaning a little closer now, so that his chin almost rested on Bobby's shoulder, "no. Not even a little."

                "Christ that's nuts," the younger man laughed. "She's hot."

                She was really, really hot.

                "Well, to each his own, that is the saying, non?"

                Though he was loathe to admit it, he thought if she had that accent JP was sporting, she'd be even hotter. "So if that was some guy, you'd be totally into this right now?"

                "Depends on the guy," Jean-Paul was still near to him, still seeming to consider the woman carefully. 

                Bobby turned to face him, "So, like, if I jumped up right now and did a little dance, that'd be totally hot?" He was being ridiculous now, but Jesus, how could he not feel _anything_ from that chick?

                Jean-Paul returned the gesture, turning so that their noses were very, _very_, near to each other. 

                Good god, his eyes were blue. And amazingly… he didn't think he could look away if he tried.

                "I don't know," his lightly accented answer came, with a slight smile. "Why don't you try it, and I'll let you know."


	2. Just Lookin

Just Lookin' 

_i'm__ just lookin' to see what i'm missing,   
you started the riot,   
pretty soon i'll be blowin' to match you,   
its too dull and too quiet.   
i bet you talk about freedom,   
and then throw it to the sea,   
you better smile on for my sweet dreamer,   
you'll never take it away from me_

-The Charlatans UK "Just Lookin'"

                Paige Guthrie turned off the water and grabbed her towel, wrapping it quickly around her. She knew very well that only Jubliee was there, but she had never been too fond of the communal showers in the locker room. Though she'd had years to get used to it. 

                She clutched the towel protectively around her, still dripping, and turned. To see her teammate crouched just slightly, her face attached to the tiled shower wall. Unmoving.

                "Jubilee… what the hell are you doing?" She sighed, though it was perfectly obvious what she was doing. 

                The younger girl, also holding her towel around her, waved her over impatiently, pulling her face away for a moment to look at Paige. "Oh god, you have to see this. I heard Bobby and Warren talking about how they made this little crack here, years ago, to spy on Jean. It's still here!" She hissed, obviously not wanting the X-Men on the other side to hear what she was doing.

                Paige sighed again, and moved over to her, taking her by the arm and trying to pull her away, vaguely appalled that it had been there all this time. The idea of her teammates sneaking a peak made her hate the showers even more. "That's sick. It's an invasion of privacy, and it's _wrong"_

                Jubilee, unimpressed, only smirked at her. "Warren's in there."

                The blonde girl felt her face flush instantly, and let go of her friend's arm, clutching her towel with both hands now. 

                Warren… god he must look beautiful wet…

                "And you know Paige, that means he's _naked_."

                She made a face at Jubilee, and snapped. "I know what it means."

                "Oh come on, guys do this kind of shit all the time. You've _got_ to see this," the darker girl was giggling at her now. 

                Her conscience screamed at her. And it was loud. It always had been. She had issues, in fact. But her curiosity… well… maybe just a peek. After all, it was just a little innocent spying. It's not as if the boys would be doing anything in there that they would be ashamed of… 

                She followed Jubes back to the crack, and put her face to it, after nodding to Jubilee's gesture for silence. Guilt and shame welled up in her… but really, she was a woman. And the prospect of Warren Worthington, the beautiful golden angel, wet and naked was a bit much for her. 

                Anyhow, he'd put it here himself, to spy on Jean. Turnabout is fair play…

                And she was not disappointed. The horizontal niche afforded a view of the entirety of the open shower on the men's side. And there was Bobby, his towel already firmly in place, walking away, and Warren and Kurt, on opposite sides of the showers, laughing at something he'd said.

                Wonderfully, gloriously naked. 

                She felt herself getting warm, as her eyes attached to him. The water sliding over his skin, pinker than normal with the heat of the water, his muscles gliding smoothly under it as he reached up to rinse his yellow hair clean of soap. She watched intently as the water slid down his front, over his hard, marble stomach, down to his—unh. Christ… 

                She suddenly felt faint.

                "Jesus," Jubilee breathed beside her, "Check out Kurt's equipment. I mean, you can kinda tell from the uniform, but damn…"

                She breathed something in reply, but wasn't sure what. Something like "Mmm k."

                Much to her disappointment, Warren turned his back, shook his wings out, and grabbed for his towel quickly, saying a few words of goodbye to Nightcrawler, who laughed and returned it. 

                Not that the back view was so bad. Hate to see him go, but love to watch him leave, more like it.

                Suddenly, she pulled away, utterly, completely taken by shame. "Jubilee," she breathed, knees weak, "Stop it."

                "Oh… oh Jesus Paige, check this out."

                She felt horrible. This was just… _so inappropriate. She needed another shower._

                "I'm serious. If you don't look, you're going to be sooo sorry."

                Hating herself, and the warm feeling between her legs, she looked anyhow, slowly, holding herself against the wall with one hand.

                And gasped.

                "Spank me, Mr. Beaubier… I've been a baaaad girl," Jubilee giggled, under her breath.

                And there he was. Jean-Paul Beaubier, the resident unattainable hot thing, head high, in all his glory, towel over his arm, standing where Warren had been.

                "Fuck…," was about all she could force out. Sure, he didn't have wings. But Christ… long limbed, perfectly muscled, and cocky as hell. All that beautiful pale skin, that gorgeous, shining hair. Perfect down to the points of his ears. And oh god… his back. Rippling like that when he reached up to hang his towel. That ass. 

                Paige clawed at the wall, just a little, futilely. 

                "The man is a crime against woman-kind," Jubilee whispered, sadly.

                Paige nodded, speechless. 

                "You know," Kurt was saying, turning off his water so that it was suddenly very quiet, his voice echoing enough to carry to them. "You don't have to wait until everyone else is done. No one will make jokes about dropping the soap."

                Jean-Paul turned around, displaying himself shamelessly in all his full frontal glory. And smirked at his teammate. 

                Who, Paige finally noticed, looked much like he was covered in velvet. God… Kurt must feel so good to touch. All that muscle under that softness…

                "Maybe I was just waiting till I had you alone in here, _non_?"

                Nightcrawler laughed and wrapped his towel around his waist, obviously in no hurry. He was well aware of his teammate's wicked sense of humor, though few had seen it before. "I leave the priesthood and suddenly they're beating down my door."

                The speedster turned back around now, reaching for the tap, turning it to where he wanted it, "Yes, well, you should watch out. Everyone knows about that tail."

                He was obviously joking, the smirk was still present in his voice, even though he was standing with his ass (oh god, just so perfectly rounded like that, oh god, the way it was dented on the sides... it was begging to be grabbed…) facing them. But god, the very thought of those two…

                She might've whimpered. Either way, the feeling between her legs made it clear that she was definitely going to need another shower, after this.

                Kurt laughed, saying something else, and started to walk away.

                And Jubilee giggled. Loud.

                Paige grabbed her arm, hard. 

                Jean-Paul turned, slowly, to look at the wall between them. One of his upswept eyebrows arched dangerously. 

                "Oh shit…," Jubilee breathed, still stuck to the crack in the wall.

                Paige's heart thudded in her chest, wondering what the asshole Canadian would do to them. Say to them. God, he had a wicked tongue…

                Oh. Oh god. Why had she thought of his tongue…? Her knees nearly gave out.

                But, to her eternal surprise, Jean-Paul only smirked, in the direction of the wall. In fact, he looked positively evil.

                "Holy shit…," from Jubilee. She took Paige's hand from her arm and squeezed it, hard, and kept squeezing it fitfully.

                As Northstar turned on the water. And took a nice, long, leisurely shower. 

                "That arrogant son of a bitch," Paige whispered, breathless. But she was completely captivated by him now, watching him lather his hair, as if he were totally, completely alone. His arms were so gorgeous, raised above his head like that, slowly, causing soap to slide down him. The water bounced off him, some of it making its way over to his back, the side they presently had the best shot of. Long lines of muscle, covered in soap and water and oh god that ass…

                He turned around, and closed his sharp blue eyes, putting his head under the water completely, and letting the water flow freely over him, washing away the soap. Paige got a nice, long look at him. Every… goddamn… inch of him. 

                "It's just so _wrong_…," Jubilee was obviously enjoying the show as much as, if not more than, she, still clutching her hand frantically. 

                "Mmmhmmm," Paige agreed, no longer aware of her actions being wrong. Only the fact that this amazingly beautiful, arrogant son of a bitch was making her awfully happy right now. And she was most definitely entertaining thoughts of him making her even happier. 

                And he was still smirking, looking horrifically smug. A familiar expression on that pretty face of his, even under water like that. 

                After an unhurried soaping down of his entire, stunning exterior, and a longer-than-needed rinse, he finally turned off the water, and pulled down his towel. 

                And turned back to face the wall, eyebrow raised again. Like he could see them right through it, and was eternally amused. She could see it on his face, "Take a good look, because it's the last one you'll get," even though he didn't say anything.

                Not that she was looking at his face for very long. She was too busy admiring to even think of what a bastard he was.

                "Oh god, just look at his--,"

                But Jubilee stopped, in surprise, as their dripping wet teammate tossed his towel in their direction… and it stuck to the wall.   

                Jubilee pushed off the wall, irritated beyond belief. "Fucking shower head!"

                "Shhhh," Paige put a hand over her mouth, barely breathing.

                Her friend just grabbed her hand, clearly unconcerned, "Oh like it matters, he just put on a show for us! Goddamn, that was hot."

                Yes. Yes it was. And Paige was now far more worked up than she'd been in a long time.

                And had nothing to do with it. Absolutely no outlet for all the energy… most of it centered between her legs, where an unmistakably familiar wetness was making her feel rather….

                "Ha-ha," Jubilee mocked her, clearly catching the look on her face. "You _liked_ it!"

                Paige still felt horrible. But at the moment, she would've liked to feel a little worse. Or was it… better? At this point, she might as well complete her sickness. And oh god, that ass…

                Jubilee raised one eyebrow. "Me too, you know."

                "You too what?"

                "You know what, don't be stupid."

                She looked at her roommate. Flushed pink. Just like she was. 

                Well, maybe she had _some way to get rid of all the energy… _

AN:

Peanut: Oh… I'll be nice to Sam alright! Well… someone will ;) Been wanting to do something with Warren lately, but I'm afraid we're going all homoerotic on this particular ficlet collection. The world needs more Warren fic.

Loulou: Soon indeed! Thanks for reading!

Akuma: DEFINITELY not my best writing. I figured I'd leave the development and growth of my style up to the angst, and blow off some steam here haha. You have the right of it! Hope the lack of effort isn't too distracting though. Feel free to let me know if it slips too far. As for our "spicy Cajun dish with some seriously hot buns" (good god, I adore Northstar. Which I figure is pretty clear at this point…) Hopefully you'll be pleased with what's in store. 

And last, but not least, thanks to Sue, for setting me straight on this one throughout my horrible trials with it (not to mention putting up with my need for pure, unadulterated smut sometimes,) and The M, for suggesting the line with the tail and egging on my JP issues. You're the devil, most likely. 

Well, unless I am…


	3. Angel

Angel 

_you are my angel  
come from way above  
to bring me love  
  
her eyes  
she's on the dark side  
neutralize  
every man in sight  
  
to love you, love you, love you..._

-Massive Attack, "Angel"

                _Isn't it funny, the little jokes God plays?_

                Many times, it seemed, Kurt had asked for a sign. A way to know that the choices he made were, indeed, the right ones. A sign from the heaven he knew would be there, even for a demon like him.

                Or at least, one with the face of a demon, like him.

                He'd been a fool, though. All the trials, all the pain, all that _verdammt angst. When the answer was right in front of him, all along. _

                "Good morning, Angel," he smirked.

                Warren Worthington's eyes snapped open. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

                "That is not the proper answer."

                Archangel lazily stretched his wings, and Kurt watched the morning light play off his heavenly feathers, immense satisfaction in his devil-eyes. "I refuse to say, 'Good morning, Charlie,' and that's the end of it."

                _"Ach!__ Mein Hertz!" Nightcrawler gripped his chest, where his heart was, and fell to the pillow again, continuing to grin. _

                Warren was grinning back as he propped himself up with one arm, looking groggy, and let the other stray to his companion's hard, velvety stomach, tracing a line or two there absentmindedly. "How you can be such a devil so early in the morning is totally beyond me."

                Kurt's tail found its way to Warren, and began tracing up the back of his bare leg, then back down lazily. "If you are always an Angel, why should I not always be a Devil?"

                Suddenly, he found himself pinned under the larger man, the entirety of Warren's warm, unyielding skin against his dense, soft fur. He had an immediate urge to shift against him, to evoke some sort of reaction from the hardness he felt against his leg now. But something in the man's blue eyes kept him from it. Instead, he reached up with one hand, gently running a finger over the supple feathers on top of one of the Angel's wings. Pure white and dark indigo.  Day and night.

                "You know I didn't mean it like that, Kurt."

                The Nightcrawler nodded, as best he could. "_Ja__, Liebling. __Ich verstehe."**[1]**_

                "You're more an angel than I'll ever be."

                Kurt smiled up at him, "So you say."

                Golden hair displaced, framed his heroic face. He was beautiful when he was vexed. Beautiful like the one he was named for, in the stained glass, in oil paints, on canvas. Gabriel, Michael. It didn't matter. No artist could capture it. Only God really could.

                His Angel. His sign.

                This was his place, he knew.

  


* * *

[1] "Yes darling, I understand" _Liebling_ is sort of all purpose, literally "little love" but I'm sure you've all already seen enough Nightcrawler to have sorted that out from context. 

AN: 

The M- Mwahahaha.

Peanut- Less funny this time… also less bloody likely. But hell, I thought it was sweet…

Fata Morgana- Revenge is sweet! And na, no Stormy. We're getting to the point where' I'm going completely, utterly impossible with the pairings. You're right though, I could totally see that… it's a good idea really… hmmm ;)


	4. New Model

New Model 

_i'm__ the new, i'm the new, new model  
i've got nothing inside  
better in the head and in bed  
at the office  
i can suck and i smile  
new, new, new model_

-Marilyn Manson, "New Model"

                She felt that Rogue was coming before the woman ever entered the room, of course. It was what she did. Despite the fact that her powers were inactive, at the moment, it didn't change the fact that the woman was a mutant. Genetically. 

                And Sage, of course, could sense a mutant a mile away. 

                But she was presently engaged, and saw no reason to look up; therefore, she continued reading about string theory as a theory of quantum gravity. She was willing to believe that it filled in the gaps where the previously established mathematics of nature, or what were the generally accepted mathematics of nature according to the men in charge, seemingly failed…

                "Sage, ah need an opinion."

                … but she had yet to be convinced that the theory's application in this realm wasn't simply one of convenience—a clever, and entirely hypothetical, situation that was devised… 

                "C'mon, it'll only take a minute!"

                … simply _for that very purpose—to reconcile the formerly _ir_reconcilable facts of gravity with the ideas that formed the basis for quantum physics, in order…_

                "Will ya just _look at me, girl?"_

                … to secure the egos and sense of well being of a community of balding white men who could not handle the simple idea that they might not understand the universe as it is. Much in the same way god had filled the gap for humanity for eons, really. Not that the idea didn't hold merit, but—

                Rogue, or Anna, as she now wished to be called, cut her thought off completely by snatching the book, with an immense psychic flash of something that could only be called "petulance," from her hands.

                Slowly, the mutant formerly known as Tessa looked up.

                The southern woman stood before her… clad in _very little. Sage, of course, was accustomed to the spare state of superhero attire, as well as the clinging quality it tended to exhibit. But this was something entirely different._

                And the other woman held her book, now closed, in both hands, green eyes blazing.

                "You did not save my place," Sage felt the need to inform her, despite the fact that it mattered little. She knew she was on page one hundred and twenty three. Line fifteen. 

                "No, ah did not," Rogue sniffed back. "Just look at me for a minute, won't take ya that long. Ah need another woman's opinion!" As she said this, the irritation seemed to leave her, and she made a quick spin, to show the entirety of the ensemble. What there was of it.

                "Ororo will be home in no time," was the only reply she found within her to make. 

                Anna sighed at her, putting the book on the table before her and leaning on it with both hands, so that the top half of the black, silken thing she was barely wearing exposed an alarming amount of cleavage. "Just tell me, is this gonna do the trick or ain't it? Ah'd be too embarrassed to try it without askin' someone else first."

                She did not look embarrassed now. Not in the least. 

                Sage cocked her head, quickly. She could barely see the other woman's legs, but it was enough to know that the lower half of the negligee did little to cover them. They were shorts, cut high at the thigh, and sitting very low, a minimum of four inches below her exposed navel. 

                Intriguing, somehow. 

                She stood and moved around the table, to where she could see more clearly. 

                Without meaning to, she picked up on a mild flash of panic from Rogue. "Ya need to stand up to look at me?" 

                But they were now standing at eye level, facing one another, and it did prove to be a better vantage point. Rogue's camisole top was cut short as well, just above the navel, and it had sleek, thin straps, like cords of silk. The material shone and shifted in the light—processed silk, far too much sheen to be raw. But it contrasted dramatically with the pale skin of her long arms and toned midsection. The curve of her lower belly disappeared eventually under the cover of the abbreviated shorts. Sage noticed the way the feminine form seemed constructed so as to lead the eye along it, its curves drawing the eye as flashes of color in a painting might. Very unlike the angular masculine form, which seemed far less artful, when viewed in this light. 

                A pleasing configuration of light and dark, curve and line. She found herself interested in what might lie beneath the spare material clinging to her teammate. 

                "Yes," She replied, eyes moving inch by inch over Rogue's half-dressed form. "This gives me a better view." Rogue's long, ivory legs were under her gaze now, the lean muscle of them exposed under the spare cover of the shorts. Strong, yet undeniably exhibiting that same softness of line and curve as the rest of her. 

                "Well, come on then," Rogue appeared to have conquered her uneasiness with her usual southern fortitude, and took Sage's hand and pulled, as a child demanding an answer, "what's the verdict?"

                Sage's attention now turned to the hand on her own. Warm and yielding, soft flesh pressed against her own. She had not realized until just now that she was often cooler than the average human. Rogue's warm hand, however, made it difficult not to notice the difference in body temperature. Or the softness of her pale skin. Did her own skin have this feeling to it?

                "What's wrong with you?" Anna complained, removing her hand and putting both of them on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently. 

                Fascinating, how the warmth of her lingered. Was the entirety of the woman's body so warm? The expanse of skin at her midsection did appear to be pleasantly flushed with blood, in its pinkness, which would leave it warm to the touch. Sage took a step forward, and placed her hand at Rogue's waist. Yes. Very warm. Hard, muscle under the skin evident. Yet the skin itself, soft and smooth to the touch. She slid her hand upward, until she could feel both the silk of her shirt, and the smoothness of her skin, comparing the qualities. She had never noticed, on herself, but the two did bear striking similarities.

                Rogue, for her part, was utterly frozen. Sage could feel something coming off of her in waves… something like fear… but also a certain excitement. As if the fear was somehow arousing. Or the arousal frightened her. Of course, the woman had only recently been able to experience the touch of another human being, and the experience was, logically, intensified for that. When one's senses are deprived for so long of a certain sensation, the returned use of that aspect of the sense naturally appears to intensify the sensation it grants. Rogue was a sensual woman, she knew that from the personality profile she had long ago established for her teammate. But she had never considered the effect of lengthened sensory deprivation—particularly one of such an emotional nature as deprivation of human contact. Most humans craved such contact. 

                She had never been familiar with that, or any other such craving, personally. It simply wasn't in her nature. But that wave of emotion, of sensation, from Anna, left her curious. It was an extremely powerful thing. Could such a small touch elicit such a response from anyone? Or only from one who had been so long deprived of said sensation? Did it make her appreciate the loss of her powers, that she was able to feel such things—or did the fear she felt come from a fear of touch, from a fear of the arousal of the senses it brought her?

                "Your powers. Do you wish they were back, at times?"

                Rogue's face came to life, at the question. Discomfort, but not with Sage's hand this time. Obviously, with the thoughts her question had brought to the front of her mind. "Ah… ah guess so," she admitted.

                Sage leaned closer now, until their bodies were touching, front to front. Despite the similarity of their builds, though, admittedly, Anna had a more ample chest than she, it was not uncomfortable. They seemed to fit together, as two pieces of a puzzle. "I thought so," she put her cheek next to Rogue's now, feeling the warmth radiating from her freely now, as her mingled fear and excitement grew. She experienced it only though the other woman's projection, however, unfamiliar with the overwhelming sensory flood her proximity was causing. But she _was_ curious, now. "I'm glad you have this chance, at least. To know what it's like."

                "What… it's lahk?" 

                She could feel that Rogue was clear enough on what she'd meant. The woman was purposely "playing dumb," as they said. And she was relaxing now, even going so far as to move her head slightly, brush her cheek against Sage's, as if to intensify her own sensory experience. But Sage elaborated for her, despite the fact that she knew it to be unnecessary. "Yes. I admit, I wonder myself. When I feel it coming from you so strongly, this intense sensation you experience at the touch of another." She was surprised to find her hand tracing lightly up and down Rogue's side now. Although she could not remember giving it the command to do so. 

                She felt her shiver now, though, pressed against her so near. Despite the warmth between them. It was not a cold shiver, clearly. "It makes you nervous." It wasn't a question.

                "A little," Rogue breathed, very near to her ear.

                "But you like it." Again, not a question.

                She nodded, quickly "yes." 

                Sage found herself at a loss, for a moment. Her body seemed to grow warm, from the inside out, her skin to come to life where Anna's hot breath fell on her. And she knew that her curiosity would madden her, if she did not discover what it was. This sudden, anomalous attraction she had to the other woman's skin. To her fear. "Would you like to show me what it's like, Anna?"

AN:  Ok… I admit, I'm creepy at times. Send hate mail to xbeaubier@hotmail.com :P Thanks Sue! 

Silver: Sorry about the romance poisoning! I figured two funny, one sweet (ish…,) one creepy, and one that's just self-indulgent (oh like the whole idea isn't…) would be a pretty well rounded lot, though. Anyhow… Warren _is _really pretty! /Flame on!

Peanut: God… can't you just see her face if Paige walked into that room… hahaha oh god, what a laugh. Shower scene part deux… oh the possibilities! 

Fata Morgana: Actually, I expected most people to find the whole Kurt/Warren thing mildly disturbing… But *I* thought it was sweet. Might be that creepy thing in me again though…


	5. Space is the Place

Space is the Place 

_and__ just because you kissed your brother  
it doesn't mean to say you're gay  
cause even when you're fuckin' him  
it doesn't mean you don't love me_

_do__ what you want, be what you want to be_

-Spacehog, "Space is the Place"

                He'd seen his blonde teammate take off on his own toward the river, and was honestly worried. He'd had enough battles with Rogue during the tenure of their relationship (not to mention his previous relationships… and marriage…) to know the look on Sam Guthrie's face for what it was. 

                Must have fought with his woman.

                _Remy go talk to him, _he thought, charitably. _No one know a broken heart like Remy LeBeau._

                When he reached the bank, he saw a pile of clothes in the moonlight, and a blonde head bobbing away out in the current. And he could've sworn the man was… singing to himself. 

                He took a heavy drag on his cigarette, and smiled. "'Dat an Elvis song, _mon__ ami? Somt'in 'bout _Heartbreak Hotel_?"_

                A splash, then a sigh, and Sam's moonlit face looked up at him, pale as a ghost. "Jesus Christ, Gambit, scare the shit out of me!"

                Remy only smiled, eyes glowing red even though the rest of him was completely shadowed. He was standing under a tree like that on purpose, just so that's all Sam would see. That and the cigarette. Nonchalantly, he began taking off layers. First his coat… "How's 'de water?"

                "Kinda' warm," he sighed, laying back on his back to float, the water causing his blue boxers to billow up around him.

                _What kinda' superhero wear boxers?_ Remy thought. _Don' it get in 'de way of his costume?_

                "Don' mind if Remy join you?"

                "Whatever," Cannonball was positively listless. 

                Remy stripped his remaining layers, down to the black boxer briefs (obviously the better choice,) and slid into the water, feeling the mud squish between his toes. Ah. Now _that_ felt like home. "Lila say somt'in you didn' like?" He finally asked, letting himself float downstream toward his teammate.

                "How'd ya guess?" His sarcasm was palpable. 

                Taking another drag, the Cajun shrugged, standing back upright. "Got good instinct 'bout women. Don' let it worry you, she come back aroun'."

                "Yeah, that's easy for you ta say," Sam's accent was, apparently, even more twangy when he pouted, Gambit noticed. "Women fall all over themselves when you come inta the room."

                "'Dey don' mind sneakin' a look at you first, seems to me. It ain't about de look."

                "Ah know," he kept pouting, clearly inconsolable. "She's just… somethin' else."

                Remy nodded his agreement, now standing at the floating man's side. "_Oui. But den, aren't dey all?"_

                "Women confuse me. I cain't tell how ta get across what it is I want."

                "Men even more confusing, trust Remy when he say 'dat. Not as pretty, neither."

                A splash, and Cannonball was standing upright in the river, facing him, with a surprised look on his face. "You never dated men!"

                Gambit threw his cigarette away into the river, with what he knew to be a patronizing chuckle, "Lot o' thin's you don' know bout Remy, _non?"_

                They were both positively dripping now, Gambit's auburn mop dark and hanging long and clingy, dripping onto his broad shoulders, Cannonball's short blonde cut shining bright under the moon, skin starting to turn to gooseflesh in the breeze that was building. Remy was unaffected by it, but all over the planes and angles of Sam's torso, small bumps were popping up.

                _It not _'dat_ cold out here.__ Wonder what's wrong with de man…_

                "How come we never heard a' it?"

                "It bother you, _homme_?" Gambit inquired. Sam had never seemed like the type to be homophobic, and he was surprised to see the shock in his friend's eyes. 

                He shook his head, "No. No, doesn't bother me. Just… Ah don't know."

                _Ahh_… So dat's what he need…_ _

                He stepped closer, took Sam's face in his hand. "You come down here t' relax, _non_?" 

                The other man nodded slightly, once, without shaking his hand off. 

                Pretty boy, really. Nice jaw line. He ran his hand over it, softly. Heroic. Far more heroic than his own cat-like, lanky look. Perfect. Yeah. He could do this. "Remy real good at relaxin' folk."

                Sam smiled now, and Remy noticed how lopsided it was. "Ah believe that."

                He still didn't know what the fight was about. But he could bet that when he was done, Sam wouldn't remember either. Perhaps the boy should think about… switching teams, if this was what he was looking for.

AN: That's all folks. Again, hate mail to XBeaubier@hotmail.com!

Silver: Ach, just the sort of creepy I wanted!

Peanut: Glad I almost managed to convince you of the wonders of girl-on-girl ;) thanks for the compliment, and for being such a faithful reviewer. I'll send you a message when next I see ya online. 

Wulfsbayne: Glad you enjoyed ;) I admit, this last one was pure self-indulgence… but I figured I might as well share.


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